


5 Times Anxiety Gets the Best of Peter and 1 Time He Doesn't Let It

by hopeless_hope



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Dad!Tony, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, May Parker is a gem, Mental Health Issues, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Self-Hatred, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, Worried Tony Stark, but what's new lmao, fluff?, im definitely projecting again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 01:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17091683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_hope/pseuds/hopeless_hope
Summary: “Peter, it’s not fine,” Tony says firmly.Peter looks at him, eyes still filled with tears, a mixture of shame and trauma and guilt all swirling around in a violent storm. Tony puts a tender hand on the boy’s cheek.“It’s not fine,” he repeats. “But it will be. I promise.”orAnxiety doesn't care that he's Spider-Man. It still eats away at Peter Parker. Luckily, he's got a Tony Stark on his side.





	5 Times Anxiety Gets the Best of Peter and 1 Time He Doesn't Let It

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This work contains depictions of self-harm. It's not graphic or traditional, but I just wanted to put it out there. Take care of yourselves.

Peter’s favorite part about being Spider-Man is the mask. And sure, a big part of why he has it in the first place is to protect May and his friends, but what he _really_ loves about no one know who he is, is that he can be whoever he wants to be.

He’s been able to craft Spider-Man into this snarky, confident persona that Peter Parker never gets to be and will never get to be. Spider-Man can show off his athletic prowess, and he gets to be someone people actually look up to.

So yeah, Peter loves the mask.

He’s always been a pretty anxious person, and that only got worse through his years in the public school system and then even more after Ben died. The only thing Peter’s ever been sure of about himself is his intellect.

Which is why, for the most part, he’s been able to hide his general anxiety and fear of just about everything from Tony. And sure, the man knows that Peter is just a jittery person, but he figures that’s just part of the kid’s dorky, excitable nature.

They’re in the lab one evening working on their own separate projects, when Peter gets a call from May.

“Hey, May! Is everything okay?” he asks, already preparing himself for the need to go home.

“Yeah, I just wanted to call and make sure you scheduled your dentist appointment like I asked you?”

Peter’s heart immediately starts racing at the words. He’d been blocking May’s request from his memory, hoping she’d just forget about it.

“I, uh… I totally forgot,” he lies, trying not to stutter. “Can you do it? I’m really into this thing I’m working on for Mr. Stark.”

He waits with bated breath for May to respond. “I have to get back to work in a second. You’ve got to get used to doing these kinds of things for yourself, anyway.”

Peter kind of wishes the ground would just swallow him whole. “Okay,” he says, trying not to sound as upset as he feels. They say goodbye to each other, and Peter hangs up, swallowing thickly.

“Everything okay?” Tony asks, and Peter looks up to find the man studying him intently.

He tries to smile, hoping he doesn’t look as terrified as he feels. _Superheroes shouldn’t be scared of making phone calls. No one should._

“Yeah, I forgot I was supposed to make a phone call. I’m just gonna, uh, step out real quick,” Peter stutters, fumbling with his phone as he makes a beeline for the exit. He feels Tony’s curious eyes on him the whole way out.

Peter tucks himself into a storage closet at the end of the hallway, hands already sweaty from nerves. It takes him three tries to dial his dentist’s number because of his shaking hands, and every time he tries to actually hit the ‘Call’ button, his heart seems to seize in panic.

He closes his eyes, feeling so _so_ stupid and childish and helpless. He’s not sure what exactly it is about phone calls – it’s probably some sort of odd extension of his social anxiety, but he just can’t stand making calls with people he doesn’t know. There’s something about the unpredictability of it that’s terrifying to him.

What if they ask something he doesn’t know the answer to? What if he says the wrong thing or stutters and they don’t understand him? What if they tell him something and he forgets, so then he has to call back and they think he’s stupid?

Peter’s heart races at the spiral of thoughts.

_Come on, Parker, you’ve got this!_

He tries to shut his brain off for a second. Just a moment of bravery is all he needs. So before Peter can think about it any longer, he hits ‘Call.’

He swears he can practically _hear_ his own heartbeat, thudding painfully in his chest. Then, the line clicks, and a cool voice answers, “Hello, this is Nancy, how can I help you today?”

Panic clogs his throat and he frantically hangs up.

Filled with shame and guilt, Peter opens up a chat with May with shaking fingers. _Dentist said they don’t have any available openings and to call back later._

It won’t hold it off forever, but any amount of time is long enough for Peter.

When he walks back into the lab, he hopes his face doesn’t show his self-loathing.

* * *

Presentations, Peter thinks, are one of the worst parts of the high school experience, second only to being bullied. Which says a lot, really.

It’s not that Peter doesn’t love the research – he’s in love with that part of it. He doesn’t even mind the writing portion. But it’s the _speaking_ part that really gets to them. He can’t stand looking at the faces of other people while he presents, reading the judgement off the lines of their faces while he tries to talk.

He’s sure he knows what they’re thinking. Every time he says, “um,” or stutters or says the wrong thing, he can practically hear their laughter echoing in his ears. Peter isn’t stupid by a long shot, but his inability to speak eloquently makes it sound like he is.

Whenever he gives presentations, Peter gets so nervous that he loses his train of thought. Well, he doesn’t lose it so much as it just speeds out of his control. That’s why, instead of working in the lab with Tony as he usually does on his internship days, he’s got all of his information spread out on the kitchen as he goes over it for the hundredth time.

Peter had initially gone down to the lab to work with Tony, but after an hour of watching Peter bounce around nervously and interrupt their work to frantically google a fact that he was paranoid he had wrong, Tony had sent him out to work on his presentation, knowing the poor teen wouldn’t get anything done in the lab in this state.

Pepper bustles around the kitchen, getting ingredients out to make cookies while Peter stresses. In the living room, Steve, Natasha, and Clint lounge on the spacious couch, watching the news, and Peter envies them.

 _Real Avengers don’t have to worry about high school presentations,_ he thinks bitterly.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand lands on his shoulder.

“Whoa there, easy, kid,” Tony says from behind him. “I was just coming up to see how it’s coming along. What’d you say your presentation is on again?”

Peter relaxes, used to talking about technology and science with his mentor. “It’s on how nanotechnology can be used to help people with chronic ailments,” he says smoothly, wishing he could always sound to confident.

“Wow,” Tony whistles. “That’s a fun topic, for sure. Although, I must admit, I may be a little biased.”

“Yeah, just a little bit,” Peter laughs. “But yeah, it’s been a fun topic. I’ve been focusing specifically on how technology that works similarly to the formation of your Iron Man suit can be made thinner to be more like actual clothing, rather than armor. This type of nano-clothing could be particularly helpful for those who physically can’t dress themselves because of an injury or illness.”

Tony raises an impressed eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve got this down, Pete. Why are you so worried?”

Peter wrings his hands anxiously, looking down. “I just suck at speaking in front of everyone,” he mumbles, looking miserable.

Tony studies him for a second before coming to a decision. “Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do: you’re going to set up your presentation in the living room and present for all of us, and we’ll give you some good, healthy constructive criticism, yeah?”

At his words, Peter immediately pales. “N-no thanks, Mr. Stark. That’s really not necessary.”

Tony ruffles his hair affectionately. “False. Constructive criticism is _always_ necessary. Plus, the extra practice will help you shake the nerves. I promise.”

 _I sincerely doubt that,_ Peter thinks to himself. He’s been a walking mess of anxiety for fifteen years. No way is it going to stop now.

But once Tony’s made a decision, there’s no stopping him. He calls to the Avengers still sitting in the other room. “Peter’s going to go through his presentation with us. I know you peasants probably won’t understand that comes out of his mouth, but he just wants to practice going through it with an audience.”

“I really don’t, actually,” Peter mutters as Clint shoots them a thumbs up.

He gathers all of his materials and his laptop and has FRIDAY connect it to the TV to present his slides on, trying to ignore the stares of the other adults in the room. Even Pepper comes over, flour-streaked apron and all.

Peter stalls for as long as he can, messing with his slides and re-typing things last minute, but eventually there’s nothing more for him to do but face the room.

It makes him want to vomit.

Steve gives him a reassuring look. “You’ve got this, kid.”

_I really don’t._

He smiles weakly and looks at the first slide, nothing more than the title. First, he has to give an introduction, but when he opens his mouth to speak, no words come out. It’s as though there’s a vice around his neck.

Peter clears his throat and tries again, but all that comes out is an aborted attempt at a, “Hi,” which really ends up sounding more like a croak.

His face reddens, and he ducks his head in shame under the weight of his idols’ stares. He knows what they’re probably thinking. How can this kid be an Avenger if he can’t even get through a practice presentation?

“Peter?” Tony asks, brows furrowed, but Peter can’t look his mentor in the eye. His throat constricts painfully, and to his horror, tears rise, unbidden, to his eyes and he wills them to go away. “Kid, what’s wrong?”

Peter shakes his head frantically. “I c-can’t,” is all he manages to get out before he bolts.

He’s burning with embarrassment and shame as he runs down the hallway to the nearest bathroom, the only thought running through his head is how much he absolutely _hates_ himself for being so weak and pathetic.

He locks the door and leans against the counter, glaring at his own reflection. His eyes are red with unshed tears, and Peter suddenly gets how people in movies get to urge to dramatically put a fist through the mirror.

But anxiety puts the brakes on that thought, because Tony would hate him if ruined the bathroom. Peter would feel so, so guilty.

There’s a knock at the door, and Peter straightens up, clearing his throat.

“Yeah?”

A beat of silence, and then, “Pete, it’s me. Come on, kid, open up.” Of course Tony would follow him.

“Just a second,” Peter says, before flushing the toilet and running the sink as if he’d actually used it. When he’s done, he opens the door to find Tony leaning casually against the wall, arms and legs crossed.

“So what was that about?” Tony prompts, when it’s clear Peter’s not going to start.

Peter looks down as he says, “I just felt sick. Thought I might throw up.”

“Bullshit,” Tony says sharply, before softening his demeanor. “Come on, kid, talk to me. No one’s mad at you or thinks less of you.”

And somehow, Tony always knows just the right things to say, because Peter’s shoulders slump and he looks up at Tony, eyes full of self-hatred and shame.

“It’s stupid,” he mutters, but Tony’s already shaking his head.

“Nuh uh. Nope. Try again.”

Peter snaps his wristband against his skin nervously, the quick sting grounding him. “I just… I don’t know. I _really_ hate speaking in front of people.”

Tony stares of him, head cocked to the side, and for a terrifying moment, Peter think, _This is it. He thinks I’m a stupid little kid. Good job, Parker._

But then, Tony nods and pushes off the wall. “Okay. We can work with that,” he says and starts walking down the hall.

Peter just stares after him confusedly. When he doesn’t hear footsteps behind him, Tony stops and turns. “You coming, kid?”

The kid scrambles after him, full of trust in his mentor. When Tony slings an arm around him and pulls him into his side, Peter smiles.

The knot in his chest loosens.

* * *

The weirdest anxious quirk that Peter has about himself, which he kind of hates the most, is his anxiety surrounding emails.

He’s sure that it probably goes deeper than that, that he’s deeply afraid of receiving bad news and emails from colleges that are begging for his attention, but regardless, it’s culminated in an inability for him to check his own email.

Ned, bless him, has been really good about it. There’s something about hearing things from other people that makes it a lot less harsh. Peter likes being able to read Ned’s face as he goes through the emails and instantly know whether it’s something bad.

So every couple of days at lunch, Peter hands Ned his phone and Ned goes through all of the new emails.

“You have, like, four emails from the University of Denver – what’s up with that? ACT wants to remind you to study, and MIT says that they pushed back the application deadline for their summer youth program,” Ned reads off, and Peter sighs in relief.

“Well, that’s fine I guess. I submitted the application like two weeks ago,” Peter says, taking his phone back.

Ned rolls his eyes. “Dork. I still haven’t finished mine, so that’s good news for me.”

So yeah, Ned is an absolute godsend and the only person who knows about Peter’s little quirk.

And then, one day, Ned is out sick. It’s the day they’re supposed to check Peter’s email, but it’s not really a big deal because it can just wait until the next day. It’s not like he’s waiting for anything in particular.

That is, until he gets a text from Tony.

_I emailed you the papers for the internship. Once they’re all signed, it’s official. Bring them with you today._

Peter’s heart drops.

He closes his eyes, telling himself that he’s being stupid, that opening up the mail app isn’t that hard. (It’s not. It shouldn’t be. But it is.)

Peter texts back a simple, _okay, thanks!_

It’s his lunch period, so if he’s going to have the papers signed by the time Happy picks him up, he needs to go to the library and print them now.

He gets up, legs feeling like lead, and walks to the library. Peter picks a computer that’s tucked into a corner so that no one has to see his miniature freak-out.

It doesn’t help that printing stuff also gives him mild anxiety, because what if something goes wrong? What if he accidentally prints out too many copies and doesn’t have enough change on him to pay for it? What if he can’t find the right settings for what he needs and then he has to ask the librarians who will then think he’s an idiot? What if other people see him struggling and laugh at him?

His mouth goes dry, hand immediately going to snap at the band on his wrist, trying to let the sharp sting ground him, but it does little to silence his racing thoughts. He hates this. He hates being like this.

Peter ends up sitting there, staring at the log in screen to get into his email, until the bell rings for his next class. He jumps, not even realizing that much time had passed.

He miserably exits out and picks up his backpack to head to class, taking out his phone and shooting a quick text to Tony.

_printer isn’t working at school. if u have the papers for me when i come in, i can just sign them then??_

Peter waits anxiously for a text back, thankful Tony can’t see his face. Tony’s always able to pick out the lies just from Peter’s facial expressions.

_Figures. Public schools are shitty. That’s fine. See you in a bit!_

Peter sighs in relief, trying to ignore the shame that’s biting at his conscience. He looks down and sees his wrist, an angry red from where he kept snapping at it.

 _Good,_ he thinks. _I deserve it._

* * *

Buildings are, understandably, a big harbinger of anxiety for Peter. Specifically, warehouses, but parking garages do the trick, too. They look similarly enough to the building that got fucking dropped on him, that yeah, Peter can’t really be blamed if maybe he hyperventilates every time he’s in one.

Peter’s pretty lucky that, even though Tony has a whole garage full of fancy cars, he never has a reason to step foot in it. Happy typically drops him off at one of the back entrances before going to park the car in the garage.

When Peter arrives at the Compound for a weekend stay, he’s excited. He loves staying there and working with Tony for hours on end and chatting with the other workers whenever Tony’s in meetings. Sometimes, he just sits in the communal living area and chats with whichever Avenger is staying over.

It’s completely surreal.

This time, though, there’s a change in routine. When he meets Tony down in the lab, it’s to the sight of DUM-E cleaning up and Tony packing up a bag of tools.

“What’s going on?” he asks, confused. They never clean up until after they’re done working.

Tony glances up at him. “Oh, hey, kid. Pack a bag. You’re going with me to a conference.”

Peter stares at him blankly. “What?”

“Science thing. Me. You. I’ve been asked to speak, and Pepper won’t let me get out of it. I figured I might as well drag you along and introduce you to some important people. I already cleared it with May,” Tony informs him.

“Um. Okay?” Peter says, brain trying to catch up with the sudden turn of events.

“Good. Meet me in the parking garage in, like, fifteen minutes,” Tony instructs, and Peter nods and quickly scurries off to his room.

Peter loves the room that Tony had given him. He still can’t even believe that the man would give him a _whole_ room, much less one that’s as personalized as it is. It’s filled with Star Wars and Star Trek posters and comforters. He even has his own mini lab, complete with a very expensive microscope, test tubes, and pipettes.

His closet is filled with various types of clothing, from casual t-shirts, big winter jackets, to more professional-looking attire, ties, and even a fitted suit.

Thinking quickly, he grabs a big duffel bag and tosses some t-shirts, comfy pants, a pair of jeans, some slacks, and a nice button-up. He’s not exactly sure what the dress code is, but he’s sure it’ll be nicer than what he’s used to.

After making a quick run for the bathroom to grab his toiletries, he makes his way to the elevator, asking FRIDAY to take him down.

It’s not until after the doors open up to the garage that he suddenly remembers exactly _why_ he avoids these places.

He tries to shake his head and clear the darker thoughts away. It won’t happen again. It won’t. He starts to walk forward to where he sees Tony and Happy waiting for him, but with every step he takes, the distance between them seems to get longer.

He is hyperaware that he is under the building. Peter darts a stressed look at the massive pillars that hold the place up, and his heart thuds loudly in his chest, because _the weight of the whole building rests on those!!_ How do they know it’ll hold? It could come crashing down any minute.

Peter sucks in a panicked breath, trying to tell himself that there’s no way that would happen again. The building won’t fall.

But what if it does? He doesn’t have his suit on! And what about everyone else? Mr. Stark and Happy would be crushed! And _oh god_ – he can’t do that again, he simply can’t. He can’t handle the weight of concrete, the fear and the certainty that he’s going to die alone.

Without even realizing it, he’s stopped walking, handing instinctively going to pull on the rubber band on his wrist.

 _Snap._ What if it falls? _Snap._ It’s going to fall. _Snap._ He can’t breathe. _Snap snap._ He can’t _breathe._

Suddenly hands are there, prying his apart and rubbing at his wrists. Peter looks around in a daze, only to find Tony in front of him, watching him with worried eyes.

“Peter! Pete, come on, buddy. Come back to me,” Tony’s saying, and Peter gives him a confused look, heart still trying to beat its way out of his chest.

_They have to get out of there._

Peter quickly grabs the man’s wrist, tugging insistently. “Out. Gonna collapse,” he chokes out.

Tony gives him a questioning look. “What?”

Peter grasps his sleeve tightly, pointing at the ceiling. “Out!” he says loudly, throat closing up with panic, because he can practically _see_ the bits of concrete falling and giving way to the pressure that’s built up.

Tony tosses a look at Happy before a look of realization lights up his eyes. “Okay, okay, we’re going,” he promises, not letting Peter go as he guides them into the waiting car. Tony slides into the back seat with the kid, buckling them both in quickly before gesturing Happy to take them out of there.

Once they’re free of the dark space and in open air, Peter’s tense body seems to relax and slump back against the seat tiredly, chest heaving as he tries to get his breathing back under control.

Tony can see the moment awareness seeps back into the kid’s eyes, because his face reddens with embarrassment, and Peter reaches to tug at the band again. Before he can, though, Tony reaches over and places a gentle hand over his.

“Hey, don’t do that. You’re hurting yourself,” Tony says softly, eyes concerned as he scans the kid.

Peter looks away, settling for clenching his fists. He curls up in the seat, his back to Tony and looking out the window as Happy drives. The weight of what just happened sits heavy between them, settling uncomfortably.

For now, Tony decides to leave it, instead choosing to start a conversation about Avogadro, the first scientist that came to mind. He smiles when Peter slowly uncurls and starts contributing to the conversation enthusiastically.

It’s not until later, when they’re settling into their hotel room, that Tony decides to bring it up.

“So what happened earlier, kid?” Tony asks as they both rifle through their bags. From the corner of his eye, he sees Peter freeze for a second before pulling out a pair of pajamas.

“It’s nothing,” Peter says shortly, a vain attempt at dodging the conversation. But there’s no way in hell Tony’s about to let it drop.

“Peter,” he prompts, gentle but firm. “That was not _nothing._ You had a panic attack. Maybe if I know what caused it, we can avoid it happening again.”

Peter sits on the edge of his bed tiredly, staring at the floor. He seems to be doing that a lot lately.

“I just don’t… I don’t like buildings sometimes,” he confesses quietly, feeling utterly stupid. Tony freezes at the admission, looking at Peter with confusion.

“What? Peter, you’ve been to the Compound loads of times!”

“Not… not the parking garage,” he says, tugging nervously at the ends of his sleeves.

Tony narrows his eyes. “Why would the parking garage upset you?” he asks, and Peter looks away, trying to think of a way to get around this part of the conversation.

He spends too long trying to think up a lie, because Tony walks forward and tilts Peter’s face up gently to look him in the eyes. “Peter… Why would being in the parking garage cause a panic attack?”

To his horror, Peter feels his eyes start to water, which only causes Tony to look more worried. Peter swallows thickly, the weight of the truth sitting heavy on his chest. He resigns himself to having to tell knowing, not seeing a way out.

“I, uh – you remember when I had to fight the Vulture?” Peter asks hesitantly, and Tony furrows his brows, trying to connect the seemingly random topic to the previous one.

“How could I forget?” he says dryly, sitting on the edge of his bed across from Peter.

“So, um, before the whole crashing-the-Vulture’s-plane-into-Coney-Island thing happened, I followed him to this old warehouse. Turns out he was a homecoming date’s dad and he figured out who I was. So that was cool. But anyway, so I confronted him, and we started talking,” Peter recounts.

Across from him, Tony has his arms crossed, face tense as he listens to the story. This is the part he had never heard, had never really bothered to ask about, and Peter never offered it up.

“Turns out it was all just a distraction,” Peter continues, pausing to take a deep breath. Tony can’t help but be alarmed as Peter’s eyes start to gloss over with memory. “He was – he had ordered his metal wing things to knock the support beams and pillars that hold up the ceiling. I, uh, didn’t notice until it was too late.”

Tony inhales sharply, face whitening. “ _What?”_

Peter’s hands are trembling now, and he laughs shakily, even though there’s nothing even remotely amusing about the conversation.

“Yeah. So, the building fell. On me,” he finishes, and that’s all he can get out before his throat closes up completely. Any other words he tries to say after that get choked off, so he just gives up altogether. Besides, he’s not sure the English language has words that accurately depict what it feels like to think you’re going to die alone under literal tons of cement.

“Jesus,” Tony swear, running a stressed hand across his face. “And you didn’t – you didn’t have your suit.” He swallows thickly. “I’m so sorry, kid,” he says earnestly, a rare apology falling from his lips.

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbles, shaking hands still twisting at his sleeves. He’s stretched the fabric beyond repair.

Tony slides off his bed and gently places his hands over Peter’s, prompting the teen to look him in the eye. “Peter, it’s not fine,” Tony says firmly.

Peter looks at him, eyes still filled with tears, a mixture of shame and trauma and guilt all swirling around in a violent storm. Tony puts a tender hand on the boy’s cheek.

“It’s not fine,” he repeats. “But it will be. I promise.”

* * *

The science convention, as it turns out, is one of the most overwhelming things Peter has ever been to.

He’s not sure what he was expecting exactly, but it sure wasn’t _this._

There are _thousands_ of people here, all very smart, and all very important-looking. And, according to Tony, they all _are_ very important. He points out various higher-ups from MIT and Caltech, and Peter feels his anxiety ratchet up. People _and_ college? That’s like an anxiety hurricane.

As they walk through the throngs of people, many of them standing at their own booths to advertise their company or products, Peter sticks as close to Tony as he humanly can without hanging onto him like a koala. He has to physically resist the urge to grab onto the sleeve of the man’s coat like a child.

He’s wearing a suit, but it still feels like child’s play, surrounded by all these seasoned executives. He plays close attention to how Tony interacts with everyone, all smooth talk and confident posture that Peter could never even _dream_ of adopting.

Peter hates it.

He’s relieved when they make it to the auditorium where Tony is going to be giving his speech. The place is _huge_ and the seats are completely packed with people. Peter’s mouth goes dry simply _being_ in a room filled with that many people. He can’t even imagine what speaking in front of all them would be like.

They make their way to the front row and settle in to listen to the other speakers. Tony is the very last one to go.

When it’s Tony’s turn to speak, he confidently makes his way onto the stage, his body language alone enough to captivate the audience. Peter stares in awe as he watches his mentor gesticulate animatedly, making the audience laugh while keeping to the subject at hand. Again, Peter is blown away by the man’s eloquence in front of so many people.

Afterwards, the audience roars with applause, and Tony gives a quick wave and a bow, making his way back to where Peter is sitting.

“So what did you think, kid?” he asks as they make their way to another building, where an afterparty of sorts is supposedly taking place. To be honest, Peter wants nothing more than to go back to their hotel room and take a long nap after being around so many people, but Tony’s told him that this is when he’ll be formally introduced to a bunch of important.

The thought makes him sick.

“It was all amazing, really. I especially enjoyed Dr. Rocha’s speech on how bioinformatics is transforming the field of biology,” Peter tells him, and Tony nods.

“Interesting. I’ll have to tell her you said that. She’ll be pleased to hear some of her younger audience appreciated it, too,” he says, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders as they walk into the building.

When they enter the spacious room, Peter kind of wants to hide in the corner and cry. Everything is so expensive-looking. The chandeliers hanging above them probably cost more than him and May’s apartment, and everyone milling about around them are holding glasses that look so crystal, Peter would be afraid to even touch one.

He can sense the power and money in the room, and he feels so fucking out of place. He wonders if it shows on his face, in his posture. Peter’s positive that people are looking at him and wondering why a ratty kid like him gets the special attention of Tony Stark.

(He’s still trying to figure that one out for himself.)

Tony gives the kid a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but that’s all he manages before they’re immediately sucked into conversation.

“Tony!” a man says heartily, a jovial smile plastered to his face. Tony shakes the man’s hand.

“Robert! Good to see you again. I trust everything is running smoothly?” he asks.

The man nods. “About as good as it can get. This year’s class of acceptants seem to be promising. I’m quite hopeful.”

“Good, good!” Tony responds before turning to where Peter had cowered behind him.

“Robert, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is Peter Parker, a sort of protégé of mine,” Tony introduces, lightly placing a hand on Peter’s back and gently pushing him forward. “Peter, this is Robert, the director of undergraduate admissions at MIT.”

Peter wants to cry. Instead, he sticks out a sweaty hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Peter. Uh, Parker,” he says, except he immediately wants to slap himself, because Tony already told the man his name! Now he probably looks stupid.

_Stupid stupid stupid._

Robert, however, just smiles warmly at him. “Oh ho! Must be quite talented to have caught Tony’s eye. How old are you?”

Peter can’t help but long for the rubber band around his wrist, but he’d left it behind at the hotel. He settles instead for digging his nails into the palms of his hands.

“F-Fifteen, sir,” he tells him, forcing himself to look directly at the man. _Eye contact. People like that, right?_

The man whistles lowly. “So smart and young? Oh man, those were the days. Tell me, have you started looking into any colleges yet?”

_Yes, but I actively avoid thinking about it on a day-to-day basis, because my anxiety goes haywire every time I try to put real thought into it._

“I’d like to either attend Caltech or MIT, sir,” Peter says unsurely, shooting Tony a look. The man is nice, but Peter really just wants the conversation to be over. Tony feels the kid shaking nervously from where he still has his hand on Peter’s back.

Robert nods in satisfaction. “Good choices. Sky’s the limit. Both are great options, although I’m partial to the latter, for obvious reasons.”

Peter nods, not knowing what to say to that. His chest clenches at the awkward beat of silence that ensues, and he hates himself for not knowing how to do this, how to be _better._

Luckily, Tony steps in, coming to his rescue. “Well, it was wonderful to run into you, but there are a few other people I’d really like Pete to meet.”

Peter’s stomach drops at that. He doesn’t think he can handle any more of that. When Robert heads off to talk to another colleague, Tony turns to Peter, giving him a reassuring pat on the back.

“You did good, kid,” he encourages, but Peter can’t help the rising tide of anxiety that’s screaming at him that he doesn’t belong here.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, avoiding Tony’s eyes. “I’m, uh, gonna run to the restroom.”

He’s gone before Tony can respond.

When he makes it to the bathroom, he quickly runs into the furthest stall, heart beating erratically. He tugs angrily at his tie, an irrational fury filling his veins. Why does he have to do this? Why didn’t Tony warn him? Why didn’t he realize how out of place Peter would be at an event like this?

Peter can’t help the way the spiral of anxiety sweeps him away, making it hard for him to breathe. He can’t go back out there. He _can’t._

He sticks out like a sore thumb, all gangly limbs and baby face and clumsy plays at confidence. Peter just wants to be in his tiny bedroom back in Queens, in their crappy apartment eating spaghetti with Aunt May.

He startles when there’s a knock on his stall door.

“Peter?” calls Tony’s voice. “Is that you in here?”

Peter sucks in a big breath before answering. “Yeah. I’ll be out in just a second,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as strained as it feels.

There’s a beat of silence before Tony says, “You sure about that? You’ve been gone for almost twenty minutes.”

Peter blinks, surprised. Has it really been that long? “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Tony concedes. “Why don’t you come out here and tell me what’s really wrong, hm?”

And honestly, that’s kind of the last thing Peter wants to do, but he knows Tony won’t just let it rest, and Peter just really, _really_ wants to go home. He sighs and opens up the stall door to reveal an empty bathroom, save for Tony.

Tony crosses his arms. “Out with it, kid.”

Peter runs a stressed hand through his curls, trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say. “I guess it’s just kind of overwhelming,” he confesses, and Tony nods understandingly.

“That’s fair,” Tony agrees. “It definitely takes some getting used to, but you’ve done fantastically today,” he praises.

Peter swings his arms wildly, trying to figure out how to make Tony understand that it’s not just today. It’s… People are terrifying.

“No,” he says, frustrated. “Well, yes, but… it’s not just. I can’t!” he bursts out, groaning with frustration as he grabs handfuls of his own hair and tugs at it painfully.

Alarmed at the sudden burst of agitation, Tony quickly comes forward and gently pries Peter’s hands from his hair.

“Hey, hey – it’s okay, I promise. Just take a second to breathe, okay?” Tony coaxes, waiting until Peter does so before he speaks again. “Why don’t I just ask you some yes or no questions, okay?”

Peter nods frantically, glad he doesn’t have to put any more effort into trying to articulate his thoughts.

“Okay. This place is overwhelming, right? Is it the amount of people?” Tony asks, and Peter nods in response.

“Gotcha,” Tony says, and he stops to think about the moment that Peter escaped to the bathroom. “What’s scary about them? Having to talk to them?”

Peter nods vigorously, and Tony frowns sympathetically. “It gets easier,” he promises. “Has this happened before?” he asks as an afterthought.

When Peter takes a second before nodding, looking ashamed, Tony pauses to think about the time he’s spent getting to know Peter. He recalls the fear of presenting to his classmates, the way he flipped out in the parking garage the day before, and his tendency to stick as close to Tony as humanly possible over the course of the day.

Originally, Tony had just assumed it was normal nerves. Now, he’s not so sure.

“Peter,” he starts slowly, “Do you have anxiety?”

His heart drops when the kid nods, looking so so ashamed that Tony kind of just wants to wrap him up in a blanket and hug him forever.

“Oh, Pete,” he says softly, heart breaking a little. “All this time… Why didn’t you something?”

Peter shrugs. “I’m Spider-Man,” he says, as if that’s an answer. And to him, it is, but Tony just shakes his head vehemently.

“Nope. No. Incorrect. Spider-Man’s allowed to be anxious, too. Especially since Iron Man is like the biggest nervous wreck out here,” Tony tells him, chuckling gently at Peter’s surprised look.

“Oh yeah, kid. I’m a hot mess. I even take medication for it. And there’s nothing wrong with it,” Tony adds quickly. “Sometimes our brains just need a little help.”

Tony waits for that to sink in, watching as Peter nods. “Does May know?”

Peter shakes his head, confirming what Tony had already figured. “Okay. We can work with that. But, first thing’s first – let’s get out of here.”

Peter opens his mouth to protest, not wanting to make them leave on account of him, but Tony cuts him off. “I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve had enough pleasantries for one day. I think I’d rather just go back to the hotel room and watch _Brooklyn 99._ What do you say?”

Peter can’t help the grin that slowly spread across his face. “Sounds good.”

* * *

Peter can’t help but regret that he’s been made valedictorian.

In fact, it’s kind of ridiculous that he’s even managed it, which how much school he’s missed to due to his superhero activities. He’s pretty sure the universe altered his numbers in the grade book, because it’s just completely improbable that he’s made it to the top without divine intervention.

Tony insists he’s just that smart.

May was over the moon with pride and excitement for him. She immediately posted it to social media, bragging that her baby’s graduating the top of his class.

The worst part about it all, Peter thinks, is the speech. He even went as far as to joke about purposely failing a test or two to drop down a place, but he simply couldn’t make himself. Nor could be stand the look of disappointment Tony and May would give him if he purposely failed.

No, this would just have to be another growing experience.

Over the past two years, Peter’s worked closely with Tony and May to conquer a large bit of his anxiety. From ordering food for himself, to asking for directions and getting his license, he’s made leaps and bounds.

He did, eventually, get around to making his own dentist appointment.

Setbacks included, panic attacks when he had to check his own email, multiple hung up phone calls, and many tears. But they’ve been working through it, slowly but surely.

He’s terrified out of his mind for college, having gotten accepted into both of his top choice colleges. Peter decided to go to MIT, not wanting to be so far away from May and Tony. Home.

But he’ll have two and a half months to stress over going to college. For now, Peter just needs to get through this damn speech.

He sits on the stage, MJ sitting next to him, having earned the spot of salutatorian. Beyond the sea of seniors in their gowns as they wait to graduate, Peter can see Tony and rest of the Avengers sitting in the front row along with May.

His family.

Peter knows they’ve all heard his speech about a thousand times, all doing their best to help him prepare and practice and get as comfortable as he can with speaking the words he’d written. So he smiles when he spots one of Tony’s little drones in the air, ready to record him.

When the superintendent introduces him to the audience, he can’t help the spark of nervousness that shoots through him, his chest tightening painfully.

For one terrible second, Peter doesn’t think he’s going to be able to do it.

But then he looks out and catches Tony flashing a thumbs up at him, and he remembers to breathe.

 _I can do this,_ he thinks.

The superintendent steps back and gestures Peter to the podium. His hands shake as he steps up and adjusts the microphone. He takes a deep breath and remembers all the moments over the past few years that have helped him to grow.

When he’s done, he’ll be able to add this one to the list.

It’s that thought which spurs him onward. He grins widely to his classmates.

“Hey, guys. It’s Peter. Peter Parker. Resident nerd. Except, we’re all kind of nerds, aren’t we? Nerds who made it four years at a school for nerds. So, first off…”

It’s not perfect, but it’s progress. And that’s more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Another weird one. I'm sorry, I just really needed to write this. These are all things I struggle with, minus the buildings - checking my email, making phone calls, speaking in front of large groups of people, and people in general. It's lots of fun. Since going to college, I've made a lot of progress, and I needed to write this to remind myself of where I've been and where I am now.
> 
> I hope this helps people in some way. Also, it's not even a little edited. It's currently 5AM my time and I've been writing this for four hours straight. I need to sleep. I'll do it when I wake up. Please leave a comment or kudos to let me know what you think! I really appreciate the feedback.
> 
> As always, come scream at me on tumblr @the-great-escapism. Oh, and I hope everyone has a safe and happy holiday season!


End file.
